


New Fights With Cowardice

by farfetched



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Illness, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Hanahaki Disease, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Love Confessions, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfetched/pseuds/farfetched
Summary: [Hanahaki disease: wherein the sufferer, faced with unrequited love, finds flowers growing in their lungs, and their brain. Unless fixed, it can be fatal; although the surgery required to fix it permanently often makes the sufferer forget swathes of time, up to and including the person they loved.]Yamaguchi Tadashi is a coward. He'd rather forget than die; he'd rather forget than say anything. Since there's no chance of winning, it's better to just not start the fight.(At least, he thinks so.)





	New Fights With Cowardice

Yamaguchi Tadashi is a coward. 

He’d probably not be the first to tell someone that. That would involve speaking up. But he’d probably nod, or look frustrated in a way that meant he agreed. He knew it. His family knew it. His friends knew it. It’s not like it was ever a secret. He liked playing volleyball, but he disliked the attention of it; he actually preferred practice over the games, quips and stupid things from his teammates making it fun, and seeing the other schools during training camps, that was fun. 

It is an undeniable fact though, that he is a coward. 

When the doctor told him the reason why he’s been having awful sporadic headaches and a cough for the last few weeks, he wanted to laugh. 

Cry, as well. But laugh. 

It’s so _dumb_. Flowers? Rooted in his body, his brain? And they’ll kill him if they aren’t dealt with?

It’s a no-brainer. He has one, and he’d rather keep it. He asked what they could do. 

The doctor gave him a pitying look and told him some of the popular theories as to why people get infected with ‘Hanahaki disease’, as he called it. 

It is an infection, and he needed to treat it as such, including wearing a mask and washing his hands almost constantly. The thing is, it often doesn’t emerge at the point of infection, that is to say, contact with another suffering from the same infection. Contact with their aspirations, mainly, and since coughing is an early symptom… 

He’s suddenly thankful his mum was almost as much of a worrier as he was, and made him wear a mask when he first started coughing. She then kept him off school for a few days before this very appointment, since it wasn’t going, and she was concerned about the sudden splitting headaches he’d get. Random, he’d thought. 

But as he was firmly told, it does not randomly appear. It is opportunistic, emerging when the immune system is weak, often when events coincide; low mood, sadness, and illness; stressful times in life often spark it in those individuals with a burden to bear. 

Yamaguchi blinked once, twice, and thought back to a revelation he’d had a month or so back. 

He’d looked at Tsukki, and just, felt. Felt his heart, as though he’d just played a game, as though he’d just gotten a point. Tsukki had smirked at him, nodding his head towards Hinata and Kageyama, play-fighting (at least, he hoped it was play. He did not want them to be punched again), and he’d realised. Linked the annoyance when Tsukki ignored him, more so than usual. Linked the ache in his heart when a girl stuttered a confession to Tsukki, the grin that he’d get when Tsukki turned them down, and rolled his eyes at Yamaguchi afterwards. 

Linked all the odd feelings he’d been having for a while, glued them all together into a full realisation and gone: _I love him_. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi was a coward. 

He was not, for the life of him, going to confess anything like that to Tsukki himself. There was surgery? He’d get it. Anything. The sooner the better; he could move on with his life and nobody had to know any better. He would not regress to coughing up flowers, Tsukki would remain as a friend, everything would be peachy. 

At least, it was, until the doctor gave him another pitying look. Yamaguchi bristled. He wasn’t stupid. He was in unrequited love. There was a difference. Love made fools of them all, from the best to the worst; he thought it might have been a quote from somewhere. 

As it was, they would not perform neurosurgery to remove the offending plant life until a later stage. It was far too risky to operate on him when his condition was minor, and they were trialling some anti-fungal medication, and suggesting that people attempted to deal with their problems first; if unsuccessful – he was assured that many cases went into remission, although if he ever had a long period of stress, it may re-emerge – they might then operate. 

They were always hesitant to perform the surgery, the doctor informed him, because it had been shown to have psychological side-effects; mainly that people had reduced feelings in general. It prevented a recurrence, but it also prevented them living a full life; some people had bad complications to do with it, and others forgot things, situations, entire memories of people from their lives. Additionally, it was an expensive operation. 

Yamaguchi was given a leaflet with information on the procedure, some tablets to attempt to fight it, a referral to a psychologist, and strong advice to deal with what was stressing him out. 

Easier said than done, Yamaguchi thought to himself on the way home. He certainly couldn’t deal with some factors that were upsetting him: the departure of the third years was difficult; he admired Sugawara and Sawamura immensely, Azumane had developed an amazing serve in the past few months, and while Yachi was very good considering how little time she’d been in the managerial role, it was still a totally new dynamic. Nobody had quite settled into a rhythm yet, the first few practice matches against Aoba Jousai, Nekoma and Fukurodani going less than well. They had first years – a wealth of them, after their performance in spring – but it felt in many ways to be back to square one. He was weirdly glad to have Tanaka, Noya and Ennoshita on the team, stable enough to hold things together, but progress right now was slow, and Yamaguchi was already seeing that he’d be overshadowed by some of the first years, taller, stronger, more dedicated and more analytical than him. Just better, in general. 

So there was nothing he could do about that. Aside from perhaps quit the club, but then he’d feel bad, and Tsukki would wonder why, unless he joined another club… 

Several seconds thought went into it before that thought went out the window. He was pretty useless at volleyball, let alone any other sport he’d not practiced for so long. If ten thousand hours of practice made a master, he wasn’t even close with volleyball – but he was much, much further behind in anything else. None of the cultural clubs interested him, and ultimately, he was invested in how far the Karasuno volleyball team could go. He liked being on the inside, knowing about things, going to the tournaments. 

Additionally, it was fun to practice with the team. They were his friends, as little as he was able to contribute to that. Without volleyball, what would he do, study? He didn’t _have_ any other hobbies. 

Which was another reason why he just needed it fixed. His sporadic headaches, he realised with dread, were not quite as random as they seemed. They must have been at first, but as they increased in intensity and frequency, he noticed that they tended to latch themselves onto thoughts about Tsukishima. 

Tsukki thought he’d started suffering with migraines. How the hell was he supposed to say anything when his head was throbbing like he’d been punched whenever he was with Tsukki? He didn’t know. Even if he wasn’t a coward, it was hard to speak through gritted teeth. 

Painkillers made the headaches slightly better. He took them during school hours, mainly, and for practice; when he knew he was going to be around Tsukki most, when he needed to be fine. At night he could take different ones that made him sleepy, helping with the cough that was developing. 

The medicines were working. He’d gone from no medication to a fair few, but he was handling it, no one but his mother knew, and everything was fine- 

Until he coughed up plant-life itself. 

The doctor, and various internet sources, had warned him of this. He’d been diligently wearing a mask, even though practice with it on was hardly fun. He was starting to get nicknames about it; Tsukki would glare at them, but it hardly helped the situation. It was a little like cancer, the internet said. It started in the lungs, and moved to the brain, and grew in both sights, at an unpredictable and varying rate; hence the headaches. Hence, apparently, the shreds of leaves he found when he removed his mask to wash his face. 

Yamaguchi could only stare at them. It didn’t surprise him, exactly, but it just made the whole thing worse. He’d been hoping it was nothing, hoping it wasn’t actually what the doctor had said, despite knowing otherwise. Maybe he had gotten migraines, or some weird form of headache related mostly to Tsukki. Maybe he did just have a cough that was going on a bit too long, but his mum had said he’d wheezed sometimes as a child, so asthma wasn’t necessarily ruled out. He was fit enough to deal with it, though. 

But those shreds of leaves told him that his best hopes were dashed. It was Hanahaki, stupid stupid Hanahaki, plants growing in his lungs and his brain, because he couldn’t deal with losing the third years and loving Tsukki at the same time. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi was a coward. 

The psychologist told him he ought to tell Tsukki, once she eventually managed to get the true answers out of him. He’d countered with wanting surgery, which had gotten him a polite but degrading ten minute lecture on the dangers of surgery and the cost. His mum didn’t have that kind of money lying around, he knew that, and he loved her and he needed to try harder, but- 

Every time he’s around Tsukki nowadays, his mouth ran dry and his throat closed up, and he coughed and he coughed and he felt it build up behind the mask, little fluttering shreds of greenery and sometimes petals, and it pissed him off. 

He got in trouble with his mum for kicking her dahlias in the front garden. He couldn’t help it if they pissed him off, stupid flowers in stupid lungs and stupid prognoses and surgery and _shit_. 

He hates everything, nowadays. He hates the feel of a mask on his face, takes it off as much as possible so he can breathe freely when no one else is around to infect. He hates the condescending looks from the psychologist. He hates the stupid leaflet telling him he can’t have surgery yet. He hates his mum’s logic when she says she will pay for the surgery somehow if he really needs it, but she doesn’t know how. He hates the stupid white pills he takes every morning, hates that he can recognise them on sight alone, hates that he relies on them to feel vaguely normal. Hates, particularly, that he no longer feels normal ever. 

He always has a headache, no matter the painkillers he takes. His lungs always burn, no matter what he does. His throat always tickles with a cough and he hates the way he feels his breath re-bound off the mask and back onto his face, inhibiting and disgusting and awful. 

It culminates in him storming out of practice. 

It had been individual practice anyway, so it wasn’t like anyone really noticed – or they wouldn’t have if he hadn’t growled in frustration as he’d gone, kicking a ball as hard as he could, only feeling vaguely sorry for a poor first year it just about missed, and stormed out the gym. 

He couldn’t get the aim right. How long had he been practicing this now, and it was still so hit and miss! The first years were laughing at him. Tanaka had laughed – probably more because it had ended up in Hinata’s face than anything else, really, but still – as had Noya. He hadn’t even been practicing with Hinata, and Kageyama got annoyed saying it was upsetting the flow – again, more because Hinata was on the floor whining (it hadn’t been that hard) but along with everything else, he couldn’t handle it. 

Tearing the mask off, he let himself cough, and cough, and cough. It was ridiculously tiring, the thick mucus he’d cough up sometimes as his lungs tried to eject the plants, invading them, and the leaf shreds hurt as they scratched his throat. At least the petals didn’t hurt, but they felt weird, and they frequently went up his nose and made him sneeze too. 

He flopped onto all fours, scrunching his eyes up and coughing, as though if he coughed hard enough, he could expel it. 

It didn’t work. It just left him exhausted, a pile of mucus and plants and a suspicious dark substance staining the lot of it, and he couldn’t look at it, the mess of his life in physical form, so he rolled away from it onto his back, and stared at the sky. 

He had an appointment in a week’s time, to check on his condition. Maybe if he didn’t take the medication in that time, it would worsen significantly… 

But he didn’t want to forget Tsukki. Forgetting his feelings for him was one thing. Forgetting him altogether… 

He didn’t like the thought of it. Perhaps he could get around it somehow? If it was a possibility, it ruined the chances of no one knowing. He was lucky so far, he knew, staring at clouds rolling past, and listening to the muted shouts from the gym. If he suddenly forgot about Tsukki, it would be very suspicious. As it was, he was hoping to convince them all that it was a simple thing, maybe like a small operation on his toe or something, and no one would ever have to know that he’d been so affected. Had been _in_ fected. 

Come to think of it, he didn’t know when he’d been infected. He could never know who had infected him – dammit – since the doctors said it was infectious before any symptoms appeared that denoted it as something other than a cold. In any case, it was very rarely quick onset, and could often be years before it emerged. They’d only just realised it was infectious, after a few cases and animal studies. 

He didn’t like the sound of that. But in any case, couldn’t they make vaccines towards these things? 

Yamaguchi had gotten a condescending look at that. He’d shut up. 

Sighing deeply, he instantly regretted it when his throat seized up; flinching into a sitting position, he coughed further, his chest aching from the effort of it. Once he’d stabilised it, he lay on his back once more, and closed his eyes. 

“Stupid Tsukki…” He murmured, smiling wryly, even as his head told him of an oncoming headache. “Stupid, stupid, stupi-” 

“Any particular reason?” A droll voice intoned, and Yamaguchi’s eyes flew open. Of course. Of course. 

“Nope!” He yelled, sitting up again, and looking straight at Tsukishima himself, one eyebrow raised in question, and bit his lip in anger. Stupid Hanahaki, more like. 

Tsukishima hummed unconvincingly, and cast his gaze around. Yamaguchi spotted the exact moment when he saw the pile of shit that had exited his lungs, by his second eyebrow meeting the first, far up his forehead. 

“What the hell is that.” Tsukki asked, deadpan as always. Yamaguchi pressed a finger hard to his temple, attempting to stave off the headache that was starting to pulse. 

“Dog must’ve been sick or something, I dunno. I didn’t even notice. That is rank!” He exclaimed, feeling so, so fake and underhanded. They were friends, weren’t they? So why couldn’t he even tell Tsukki it was him? He was the rank one! 

Tsukishima sneered at it, and turned his eyes back to Yamaguchi.   
“You done with your tantrum?” He asked, showing no sign of disquiet. Yamaguchi felt his face burn for several reasons, and broke off to stare at the ground. 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be- be back in a second.” He stuttered as a cough made itself known, his lungs aching in protest. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to go and get surgery and be fine again. 

“You need to clean your shoes, those are your indoor ones. Kageyama will murder you.” Tsukishima murmured sardonically as he swivelled on his foot, thankfully taking the unsaid request to leave him alone. 

Yamaguchi watched him go, and coughed, specks of white petals, and leaves, spattered with drops of blood, leaving an awful taste in his mouth. 

Yamaguchi took a cough drop, more for the taste than any particular helpful effect. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi was a coward.

* * *

Probably worse than Tsukki nearly finding out was Hinata actually finding out. Damn that child and his propensity for being in bathrooms before tournaments. 

Yamaguchi had been fine on the bus. He’d been fine on the way to the stadium, only the usual nerves. He’d been pleasantly chatting with Yachi, leaving Tsukki to listen to his music and stare aimlessly out the window. He’d been fine while changing into the kit, while avoiding looking at Tsukki, while surreptitiously grabbing the painkillers and the cough suppressants and the anti-fungal medication that didn’t seem to be doing much good, if he was honest. 

If he’d had a lighter, or the courage to ask Coach Ukai to borrow his (if his mum thought he’d been smoking, his life would be ended far before Hanahaki got him), he would have burned a mask. And some flowers. He wondered if there were some cathartic videos he could watch on the internet that might have a similar effect. 

Like usual, the inside of his mask was splattered with blood, and leaves, and white petals. Like usual, he went to shove it in the bin, grumbling about tablets and the taste of it all and wanting to be sick properly so he could get fixed- 

He didn’t hear the door open. He didn’t hear Hinata waltz in, for once not singing, and pause abruptly to watch him drop the disgusting mask into the bin. 

He looked up, and met wide eyes, flickering between him and the bin. Him, and the bin. 

They landed on him. 

“You’re ill, Yamaguchi?!” Hinata shrieked. God love him, that boy was loud. 

“No, no I- I just-” He stopped for a second. To them all, he _was_ ill. He’d been wearing a mask for over a month now. “I mean, nothing more than usual!” 

Hinata frowned.   
“But it looks like-”   
“Blood? I just bit my tongue, it’ll go in a second-”   
“-flowers…” Hinata finished over his exclamation. “And blood.” He remarked, offhandedly. 

Damn his eyesight, too. Yamaguchi wouldn’t have caught that. 

He also didn’t know what to say. Did he refute it? Admit to it? Ignore it? Get angry? Storm out? 

“Mum has flowers.” Hinata murmured, and Yamaguchi felt himself go pale. “Mum has flowers and when she’s ill they come back and she has to take medicine for it.” Hinata said, staring at the bin for a long while. “She said- she said it happened because Dad died. And it doesn’t go away, because the flowers never leave. Once you’ve been sad, they never leave.” 

Hinata switched to staring at Yamaguchi. He felt very much like a bug under a microscope, examined, and unable to escape. 

“Are you sad, Yamaguchi?” He asked. 

Yamaguchi felt like laughing. Felt like crying. Felt like running. 

Felt like lying. 

“I’m just a bit ill at the moment, Hinata. They come back when you’re ill.” He reminded him. Hinata though, frowned.   
“You’ve been ill for a month-” He started, and Yamaguchi could see the revelations tumbling behind his eyes, almost like when he went in for a spike, calculating and connecting all the evidence. He didn’t even know Hinata had realised. “This is the first time, though, isn’t it?” His eyes went wider, and distinctly watery. Stepping closer to Yamaguchi with unnerving speed – really, he wished Hinata had not forgotten what he’d actually come to the bathroom to do – Hinata put his hands on his shoulders, and stared intently at him. “I don’t wanna lose you! How can I help, Yaaaamaaaaaguuuuuchiiiii!” He wailed. 

Yamaguchi flailed.   
“Hinata, Hinata, you don’t need to help, I’m on it, it won’t be long-” 

Hinata was far gone, sniffing copiously.   
“I can’t lose you, you’re our pinch server, and the first years love you and you’re the only one who can deal with Tsukishima, there must be something I can do to heeeeeeeeelp!” He wailed, even louder. Yamaguchi felt his control break with the splitting headache at the thought of Tsukishima. 

“I’m gonna get it removed!” He snapped. Hinata paused. “I mean, it’s a pain. They won’t operate yet. But they will. And I’ll be back once they do. All fine again.” He smiled to comfort Hinata, but his face had gone all calculating and scary again. 

“It should have gone. If you’re not sad, it should have gone, the medicine should help if-” He fell silent, thinking. Yamaguchi could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain. “You’re still sad. It hasn’t sorted. What’s wrong? Oh, right, maybe I can’t help, but maybe Tsukishi-” 

“Stop!” He cried, feeling as though someone had shot a bullet through his head. Not that he’d know what it felt like, but if he had to guess. “Stop, Hinata, don’t- don’t get anyone. Especially not Tsukki, I-”   
“Are you fighting?” 

Yamaguchi sighed.   
“No, not exactly, I just-”   
“Is it Tsukishima though?” Hinata asked.   
“Yes, but that’s not the- wait!” His thoughts ground to a halt. Hinata just blinked at him, as though he hadn’t just admitted to a) liking a man and b) liking someone on the same team. The team was everything to Hinata. He would not take a threat like that lying down. “I don’t- it’s got nothing to do with- I don’t like Tsu- how did?” He stuttered, panicked. 

“Mum got it because of Dad, but I looked it up, it happens a lot with uh… love that isn’t returned…” He got a puzzled look as he thought about the right word, then dismissed it. Yamaguchi didn’t have the brain power to provide it for him. “Or at least, when people think it isn’t. It makes people sad.” Hinata nodded to himself, then grinned up at him. “What are you waiting for?” 

Huh?   
“What?” He asked.   
“Tell him!” Hinata beamed, like it was easy. Like it couldn’t go horrendously, disastrously wrong. “Tell him, and he’ll say yes, and it’ll go away! Surgery is scary.” 

Yamaguchi stared at him.   
“Hinata,” he croaked hoarsely, “Suppose I said something. And he hates me for it. That is not going to make anything go away. That’s just going to make it _worse_.” He stated, feeling anger boil in his stomach, both at himself and at Hinata, for thinking it could go so easily. 

Hinata frowned, tilting his head to one side.   
“But at least you’d know…” He mused. 

“Thanks, but I’m not saying anything. I’d rather have surgery. Or just get over it.” He stated, pulling away and not bothering to hide the action of taking the pills. Hinata just watched him do it. 

“You’d rather have someone open your brain than say something?” He uttered eventually, as Yamaguchi swallowed the third pill. He nodded in response. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi, after all, is a coward. 

“But I don’t- It wouldn’t be the end of the world, Yamaguchi! What if he did say yes, what if it all worked out? What if the surgery goes wrong? It can, Yamaguchi!” Hinata cried, throwing his hands out. 

“I’d rather take my chances with surgery than with Tsukki!” He returned, slamming the water bottle down. “If they’d just done it in the _first_ place, I’d never be here, and I’d never be coughing up these stupid things and getting headaches and argh I hate him!” 

He fell into a coughing fit, loud and echoing around the bathroom. Gripping the sink to steady himself, he scowled at the detritus left when it all subsided. 

“That’s the problem though.” Hinata murmured. “You don’t hate him at all.” 

Sometimes, Yamaguchi could really hate Hinata, just for being truthful.

* * *

Kageyama pulled the both of them out the bathroom, irritated about them not showing up for warm-up, Ennoshita scolded them for being late, and Tsukishima raised an eyebrow at Yamaguchi. 

The real problem was that he couldn’t really wear a mask during the match. During warm-up it was fine, although he felt all the eyes on him, everyone wondering why, why. Was it a new tactic, had anything else changed? Was he really ill? Why wasn’t he sitting out? 

It really didn’t help that he kept coughing, and coughing and wincing every time he caught sight of Tsukki, stretching and languidly practicing hits and blocks, looking unperturbed like usual. It didn’t help when even Tsukki noticed, joining the line of people asking if he was alright, and Yamaguchi’s answer becoming totally unconvincing when he couldn’t stop coughing or holding his head. 

Dammit, the medicines were supposed to be working by now! 

“You’re not okay.” Tsukishima muttered, clinical eyes on him as Yamaguchi doubled over, face screwed up in pain. If he just went away, stopped talking, stopped being… him, then Yamaguchi wouldn’t have a problem. 

But it wasn’t Tsukki’s fault. It was his, and his alone. 

He couldn’t barely get his breath back, let alone answer. Tsukki pushed him firmly towards the bench.   
“Sit. Now. Breathe.” He commanded, and absent of the energy to complain, Yamaguchi did so, closing his eyes and dropping his head, although his ears were still full of sound. 

How long now? How long did he have to wait? 

Weeks? Months? A lifetime? Even if the surgery went well, he’d never really be rid of this, it’d just be easier to manage. Whatever he did, he was stuck with stupid plants in his lungs and brain, creeping and encroaching and awful. 

The thought of just letting it take him sounded incredibly alluring just then, surrounded by the squeak of shoes on wooden floors and shouts of his teammates. The splitting headache because he could hear Tsukki, even when he wasn’t talking, the way he breathed, how his presence changed other people, the non-verbal comments he’d make, Kageyama getting annoyed at a look Yamaguchi couldn’t see. 

He didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want to die. He just wanted it gone. 

As he sat there, thinking about it, he wondered if he might make a scrapbook about Tsukki. Then, if he did forget, he’d have a way back. If he could map a route back to normalcy, no one ever had to know. Hinata was now unavoidable, but easily distracted. Possibly a good information source, if Yamaguchi didn’t doubt his ability to keep secrets. His mum would always know, but that probably wasn’t a bad thing. She’d be able to sort it out quickly if she ever got it. 

“Oi, Yamaguchi! Stop warming that bench, if you’re better, come warm up!” Ennoshita yelled across to him. 

All he had to do was not look at Tsukki. Hopefully the painkillers were kicking in. 

“Coming!” He yelled back, and heaved himself to a standing position. 

It was making him weak. 

Going for surgery in itself wasn’t being a coward though, right? Just letting it take its course was more cowardly, he decided as he went back into jogging around the court once, twice, mainly to keep himself from having to look at Tsukki at all. 

Letting it kill him was giving up. Not to mention an awful way to die. Much as he loved Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi was not about to die for him. Not for some stupid plant disease, anyway. 

He’d make a scrapbook, he decided, and then see the doctor tomorrow, and schedule the surgery. Surely they had to let him have it now? 

If he had the money.

* * *

At least, that had been the plan. 

He’d started on the scrapbook that evening, but thinking about Tsukki and the past Yamaguchi had with him was excruciating. Add in the coughing, and it soon equalled his mum barging into his room to stop him, or at least get him to take cough medicine. What she found instead was him, head on his desk, tears streaming from his eyes, and trying not to sob because it hurt his throat. 

She pushed the pen away from his head, gathered him in her arms, and hugged him, as though she might be able to make it all go away. 

She knew what it was by now. He couldn’t not tell her, like he couldn’t not say when he’d been bullied that day, or when he’d gotten a bad grade. She tried to encourage him, but admitted she found Tsukishima hard to read, and did not want him getting worse. She was not hopeful for either option, but anything that saved her son would have to do, since she could not go back in time. 

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, anxiety and dread all squirming in his stomach, conspiring against him, and in the morning, he knew he was no good for the game. Not even as a pinch server. He couldn’t do this anymore, he wasn’t okay and everyone knew it, Hinata knew and thought he should say something and his mum thought he should say something but would stand with him, but the money- the money, the risks-

Tsukki had no idea. 

It just wasn’t fair, Yamaguchi thought as he half coughed, half threw up into the toilet. There was more of everything, leaves, petals, mucus and blood, and he _needed_ that surgery. He couldn’t go on any longer. If he was alive, he had a chance to rediscover friendship with Tsukki. 

Dead, he had no such chance. 

His mum rang the doctors, to hopefully move the appointment forwards, and then the school, and then Takeda-sensei. 

Yamaguchi texted Tsukki, painfully slow. 

‘ _I’m sorry. I’m not playing today._ ’ he wrote. Clicked on send, watched the animation, eyes squinted through the headache. 

He needed to not think of Tsukki. Not think of how he jumped, so tall and gangly and yet somehow elegant, how he was always grumpy and had a quip ready to fire, how he put up with Yamaguchi for so long, and didn’t even question his illness, leaving well enough alone. 

His brain was fixed on Tsukki. Tsukki Tsukki Tsukki. It was all he could think of, and it’d be the death of him. 

His phone buzzed, once, twice, three times. Squinting at it, he sluggishly opened the messages, even after seeing who they were off. Did it really matter? He was always in pain, and he couldn’t not reply. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi was a coward. 

‘ _what_ ’ the first said. 

‘ _you are not skipping today because of your cold_ ’ the second said. 

‘ _sit on the bench and die there, youre coming to this game Yama_ ’ the third said. 

But he’d be no use, he knew. What was the point? Here, it was quiet, and dark, and he could relax, not having to worry about blood and flowers- 

As he held his phone, a fourth text came though. 

‘ _if you run i will murder you_ ’ 

Yamaguchi stared at the ominous message, followed swiftly by an urgent knock on the door, and looked at his own bedroom door with dread. Sure enough, vague hints of two familiar voices floated up the stairs, then steps, and his door slid open- 

“Tadashi, Tsukishima-kun is here to see you…” His mum sounded hesitant, but there was little to stop an annoyed Tsukishima Kei. 

“Excuse me, but he’s coming to this game.” Tsukki muttered from behind her, and she gave up on being any kind of barrier, her hand falling from the door frame, and retreating down the stairs again. Tsukki stepped in, and stared at him. 

“I’m ill.” Yamaguchi breathed tiredly. “Go, I’ll cheer from here…” 

Tsukki snorted, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one leg, and scowled at him.   
“I was hoping you’d tell me what was wrong.” He said, curtly. Yamaguchi felt pain lance through his mind. “I was waiting. Since you haven’t, I’ll have to ask.” 

“I wouldn’t bother, Tsukki…” Merely saying the name made him flinch, and a cough to rise up into his throat and try to choke him. His mum had put a bowl next to his bed so he didn’t have to get up. But if Tsukki didn’t see the blood, it was just a cold. Just a cold. No blood or flowers in a cold, and migraines were a given at this stage. 

“What’s wrong?” Tsukki asked again, something about his tone harder and more closed. Yamaguchi felt his eyes sting with tears again, and cursed it. Cursed the illness. Cursed Tsukki for being the one to cause it. Cursed himself for being such a coward. 

“It’s just a col-”   
“Bullshit.” Tsukki interrupted him icily. “It wasn’t a cold a month ago, and it’s not a cold now. Colds don’t last months, Yamaguchi.” 

“You don’t want to know.”  
“I do.” Tsukishima countered immediately. Yamaguchi’s hands tightened into fists, in anger and in pain.   
“You don’t. It’s not going to help. It’s going to go away soon.”   
“And what’s that supposed to mean.”   
“It means,” Yamaguchi started through gritted teeth, opening one eye to glare at his friend, “That it’s going to go away soon. I’ll be perfectly fine soon.” Never mind about the funds for the operation. Never mind the aftermath. He’d do anything to get over the pain, head splitting in half, and to rid himself of the foreign matter in his lungs, his brain. 

“How so?” Tsukki questioned, the corner of his mouth tugging downwards.   
“It’ll be gone, alright? It’ll be gone and it won’t matter anymore! Stop asking questions!” He cried, although it was closer to whining than angry. 

“What will be gone?” Tsukki pressed on, oblivious to how it would change things.   
“You! The effect you have on me, the- the- this!” 

Tsukki hesitated for a beat.   
“’The effect I have on you’?” He echoed. Yamaguchi just wanted him gone. Wanted everything gone. Wanted himself gone, at this point. 

“All these stupid feelings, love or shit, gone! Won’t it be great, I won’t be coughing-” No, he couldn’t tell Tsukki about the coughing and stuff, that was a secret. The reason for the headaches. “Maybe I won’t know you after, but that’s probably a good thing. For you.” He muttered. 

“You won’t…” Tsukki petered out after those two words. Yamaguchi couldn’t bear the light, the pain.   
“Yeah! Won’t that be a relief! Now go to your game, and win it, and forget, like I will!” Yamaguchi said, mid-sob, hating his cowardice, even now. “Don’t miss it for me!”

There was a long pause, filled only with his weak coughs he was trying not to succumb to. 

And then. 

“You’re being p-pathetic.” 

He was in pain. He failed to see how it was so pathetic. Even if it was, if Tsukki could feel the headache he had just from him being here, the plants crawling up his throat, maybe he’d understand. 

He wouldn’t ever understand. 

Yamaguchi heard the door shut, and waited for the footsteps to go down the stairs. For despondency to well and truly descend. Tired of not coughing, he heaved everything he could into the bowl, a disgusting gloop he wanted to disappear. How fast could they organise surgery? He’d need it now, anyway. It would kill him much faster in the certainty of defeat. 

A quiet sliding sound. 

“Stay here. Okay?” He heard Tsukki say, and snorted. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Apart from if it was somewhere with enough painkillers to knock him out of this, or had access to a neurosurgeon. “I- I mean it. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything.” The door slid shut again. Yamaguchi laughed, a weird breathy thing that just made him want to cough. 

He couldn’t do anything here except die faster. Maybe his mum could get a doctor’s appointment, maybe he could go, maybe he could be rid of this. 

“ _I’ll be back later, Yamaguchi!_ ” 

Tsukki must have shouted it through the door. Rapid footsteps hammered down the stairs, and the front door opened and closed without any word from his mum. 

_I’ll be back later, Yamaguchi_. 

What did that mean? 

It hardly mattered. He just wanted sleep, and for the pain to end. 

He got one of those things.

* * *

“Yamaguchi!” 

He’d been to the doctors. They agreed it was serious enough to need the surgery, and would get in touch with the hospital to book a time. They advised he do anything to make himself feel better, even transiently, as it might help. He spent the day watching dumb videos, which didn’t make him laugh so much as think about anything else other than Tsukki. 

But whenever he got a reminder, his head split open again. His heart split open again, and he didn’t know if it was possible to dehydrate entirely through crying. 

“Yamaguchi?” 

He’d made peace with it. Almost. That was a lie. It was a raw wound. Hinata had said he’d say yes, and he hadn’t. He hadn’t even responded. Had he? Yamaguchi didn’t think he had. He’d just run off, too disgusted to be in the same room as him. 

Could he sleep until that time where he was free? 

“Yamaguchi!” 

A hand planted on his shoulder, and he cried out in pain. Tsukki. What was he doing here? To rub salt in? 

“What…” He hissed, squashing his eyes together hard, grabbing his head. He felt like he could pinpoint the seed, that damned seed. If he ever found out who he’d got it off… 

“You love me?” 

He had to laugh. Then he had to cough, and spit the shit that accumulated in his mouth out.   
“Why would I lie about that?” He whispered, keeping his eyes shut. The pain was enough without the sight of Tsukki, disgusted with him, morbidly curious at how love could kill someone. 

“Ha. True.” Tsukki murmured. He paused, or at least, Yamaguchi didn’t hear any movement. “I…” Tsukki started, and trailed off. Didn’t know how to reject him. 

“I get it, Tsukki. You don’t have to say it. Leave it. It’ll be gone.” He said, and pressed harder on his temples. “I might not remember you, though.” 

“Do you have to get it? The surgery?” 

It stunned him enough to open his eyes. Tsukki was so close, must have crouched down, eyes level with his in the bed, and piercingly clear. 

“Yes! I can’t get over it, so it’ll kill me. Just another great thing abou- ow.” He lifted one hand to flap weakly at Tsukki. “You’ll get other friends, don’t worry about that. Wait, and I might be a better one…” 

“You won’t, because you won’t remember me.” Tsukki said firmly. He took a deep breath, but Yamaguchi was tired. 

“Find someone who will, I can’t-”   
“If you could listen to me, dumbass, that’d be nice.” He quipped, and Yamaguchi snapped his mouth shut. 

Tsukki was- was faintly red? More than faintly. Fever?   
“If you could stop being pathetic and wallowing in self-pity, you absolute _moron_ , and think about it. I was shocked. Of course I’m shocked! I didn’t know!” 

Yamaguchi didn’t get it. But he didn’t say anything. He stayed quiet and tried to ignore the headache and the tightness in his throat. 

“You don’t just get to decide that all by yourself, stupid!” 

Yamaguchi blinked. Decide what? 

“Don’t decide for me. I’m the only one who can decide that.” 

He echoed his thought out loud. What was Yamaguchi deciding? It was all facts. He loved Tsukishima. Tsukishima could never return that. He was going to die if he didn’t get surgery. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Tsukki quite so red. Maybe he was dreaming. 

“Ugh, you absolute- don’t just.” Tsukki averted his eyes, weirdly shy, then caught his gaze again. “My, uh… my _feelings_.” He hissed, as though the word itself was contagious. “Don’t decide them for me!” He stated. 

Yamaguchi stared. And stared. 

“But…”   
“But nothing. You won’t. You can’t.” Tsukki said, and Yamaguchi nodded, dumbfounded. 

Tsukki just kept staring at him. Yamaguchi kept staring back. His addled brain couldn’t think beyond what it already knew. 

“Don’t make me say it, Yamaguchi…” Tsukki mumbled, and his brain went utterly blank. “You’re not that stupid most of the time, are you? You sure you’re not brain dead already? Hello, Earth to Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei requesting a presence down here.” 

“You- what?” He breathed, brain latching onto connections. Don’t decide for him, don’t decide feelings for him, he’s the only one that can, Yamaguchi loves him, don’t decide, don’t make him say it- 

But it’s… it’s _impossible_. 

“There! You look suitably like your brain has figured something out. And not too bad. I’m telling you, that impossible, might just be right.” Tsukki said, an odd glint in his eyes, his face totally red. 

“You… like…?” He started, eyes wide. Tsukki nodded. “Like… me…?” Tsukki nodded again. “But… that doesn’t…” He frowned, trying to think. There must be some kind of error. 

“Don’t decide for me, idiot. I’ll decide that.” Tsukki affirmed, and took a deep breath in, before holding out his hand. Yamaguchi looked between it and him several times, before latching his gaze firmly onto Tsukki’s eyes as he slowly shifted his hand from pressing into his skull towards it. 

_Must be an error. This would never- don’t decide for him- what’s the worst that could- what are you waiting for?_

He tentatively held Tsukki’s hand. A small smile appeared on Tsukki’s face, foreign and unfamiliar and yet, belonging there. 

“Yes.” Tsukki said, squeezing his hand. “Stupid.” His tone was oddly warm. Like it didn’t mean something bad in Tsukishima-speak, like it was something else entirely. 

The headache had ebbed away to something far more manageable. He couldn’t feel the cough, but he was sure it was there, but- had it changed? Had it all changed, in this exchange? 

“I said I’d be back, Yamaguchi.” 

“So you- you do? Really?” He breathed. 

“I would prove it more solidly, but you’re kind of disgusting right now.” Tsukki remarked, smile slipping into that old familiar smirk, and Yamaguchi was hurt for a long moment before he connected all the shit that had left his lungs, and could not blame him at all. Even if he didn’t really get it, didn’t dare believe whether what he imagined from that statement was what Tsukki was thinking. 

“Not to mention contagious.”   
“Yeah.” Tsukki said, his brow furrowing. “So, do you have to get the surgery?”

* * *

It turned out that he didn’t. At least, not the brain surgery. He had to have a procedure in the end to fix his lungs (thankfully not so expensive, although his mum was so elated to have him well again, she swore she’d pay somehow. He swore he’d pay her back). They told him that they might always ache. He’d always have a tendency towards headaches, and actually developed migraines – or maybe they had always been that, he just couldn’t have traced it as one. 

He had to have some trial non-invasive treatment to reduce the seed, and might always need medicine to keep it at bay, kept around for if it sparked again, which it inevitably would at some point. Transition points, they warned him, were the worst, like leaving school, changing relationships. If it got really bad, he might still need the surgery, but as long as he was stable and relatively happy, his immune system could work with him and keep things in check.

Hinata was overjoyed to see him back at practice, and didn’t even look at the scars on his chest. Yamaguchi told the first years he’d been in a fight when they asked. Kageyama snorted, and Tsukishima smiled. 

He did smile a lot more, now. Not that Yamaguchi had noticed. Too much. 

Other than that, things were much the same, rebuilding himself up to a fit state to play volleyball and work and fight for his position on the team. Catching up on school work, dealing with the migraines and check-ups and medicine. 

Tsukki hadn’t actually changed that much either. He was still no good with kind words, but Yamaguchi was learning the difference between _stupid_ and _stupid_. The difference he must have heard before, but never looked at, never really realised. He was learning the shape of his mouth, learning the way their hands fit together, learning the exact angle of his eyebrows and what it meant. 

Learning not to decide things for Tsukki. Now though, he would be told he was wrong. Slowly, slowly, they were getting somewhere, and Yamaguchi was happy with that. Happy to discover at his own pace, matching Tsukki’s. 

Learning, bit by bit, how to not be a coward. 

Tsukki said that he would have considered brain surgery a scarier option, and called him an odd sort of coward, but with that tone of his that meant he didn’t really mean it. 

They were both learning how to be happy, ultimately.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who is sort of obsessed with this trope. So, this is my mediocre attempt at a 'scientific' version - how would Hanahaki actually cause those symptoms, if it functioned more like a normal disease? You got whatever this is. Thank you for reading it, hope it wasn't a waste of time...


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